Price of Leadership
by ObsidianJade
Summary: In the end, it wasn’t as though he had a choice. After all, true leaders rarely do. Grimmjow-centric. WARNINGS for implied non-con, abuse, torture, etc.


A/N: This is.... odd. It came to me after reading Bleach 284 (manga), (episode 167 for those following anime-only) seeing Grimmjow's history as the leader of his little band. If this doesn't seem to jive with the anime, it's because his leadership was played a bit differently in the manga, possibly because there was less space for him to call his group idiots.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Spoilers: Through Manga 351, Ulquiorra's regeneration ability only.

WARNINGS: Implied abuse/torture, bondage, non-con, male/male, and Grimmjow's mouth. Not for those who think Aizen and Gin are benevolent bastards.

* * *

The Price of Leadership

Aizen would never understand it.

He thought leadership meant taking what you wanted from those you lead, bending them to your will until they broke. After all, his underlings were nothing but toys to him. They could always be replaced.

He wasn't the type who would ever grasp the true meaning of leadership; it meant personal sacrifice, something he would never accept. Sheltering and protecting those who followed you when they were weak, supporting them when they could stand on their own. Fighting beside them, not throwing them onto the front lines and sitting back, waiting to be entertained.

And certainly not breaking them yourself.

"Fuck, Ulquiorra. What's Bastard-sama done to you now?"

The pale Espada stared past him without answering. His intensely green eyes were clouded over and dull, his breath coming in short, harsh wheezes. His right hand was pressed against the wall, and Grimmjow suspected that the support of the cold stone was the only thing keeping the Fourth on his feet.

After all, his instantaneous regeneration only worked when Aizen wasn't suppressing it. It seemed to amuse the bastard to watch Ulquiorra bleed.

"Oy, Ulquiorra!"

A flicker of life touched those green eyes, something other than dull apathy behind them. Something that looked far too close to pain or fear or just plain _hurt, _and Grimmjow clenched his teeth and growled. He didn't like Ulquiorra - never had - but even Ulquiorra didn't deserve this.

"Show me," Grimmjow ordered flatly, ignoring the fact that the other Espada outranked him. They would settle it later, when Ulquiorra wasn't leaving a trail of crimson on the floor.

Wincing, the other Espada straightened out of his hunched posture. His left hand was still pressed over his ribs on the right side, doing little to stem the flow of blood and nothing to stop the pain.

"Oh, fer the love of -" Two strides brought him close enough to seize the Fourth's flowing coat in his hands, stripping it off the barely-resisting Espada's back. That in itself told him how wounded Ulquiorra must have been; had he been himself, Grimmjow's head would no doubt have parted company with his body, no matter what Bastard-sama said about his pets fighting one another.

"Fuck," Grimmjow muttered again, when Ulquiorra's crimson-stained coat slid to the floor. The white back had been butchered; bloody lines covered almost every inch of flesh, tearing, staining. His wrists, too, were torn, rough-patterned marks that meant he'd been chained so tightly that the metal had bitten into his skin.

The whips, the chains, those meant Gin had been involved; Aizen's wounds were all too far below the surface to show this cleanly. But Ulquiorra had wounds in other places, lower places, and that meant that Aizen had taken his fun as well. Gin could play all he wanted with the lower Arrancar, but only Aizen was allowed to hurt the Espada like that.

When Ulquiorra's voice came, it was so faint that Grimmjow barely heard him, but the words made him jerk in disbelief.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'give you back your coat'?" he demanded. "You ain't goin' anywhere you're gonna need it, not in that condition."

The noise Ulquiorra huffed out might have been called a laugh, if it had not been so bitter. "True," the Fourth relented. "I doubt I will have much need for any clothing, within a time."

"He's called you back like this?"

He knew the answer anyway; he didn't need Ulquiorra's confirming nod. It was three of them; Ulquiorra, Grimmjow, and Hallibel - that Aizen liked to play with the most. The man made a game of it, trying to break each one; Ulquiorra's indifference, Grimmjow's defiance, Hallibel's calm.

"Go back to your room, Ulquiorra."

"Aizen-sama ordered-"

"Aizen'll have to deal with me for tonight. Go back to your room, Ulquiorra."

Hollow green eyes stared back at him. They were the eyes of a beaten animal, hurt, mistrustful. Grimmjow stared back into them until Ulquiorra dropped his gaze.

The 'thank you' was so quiet that it barely reached his ears, but it did.

"Don't thank me," he grumbled back. "It's what a leader does."

Turning, he left the Fourth to collect his bloodied self and return to his room, where the block on his regeneration abilities would hopefully wear off and allow him to heal.

Alone, Grimmjow strode to the throne room, slipping through the door without waiting for an invitation. He paused a few steps in, stopped, waited.

"Grimmjow, what an unexpected surprise." The voice was gentle, cultured, rolling off of a monster's tongue. "Particularly given that I had requested Ulquiorra's presence tonight."

"Ulquiorra's indisposed," he grunted in response. "You get me."

"How charming," Aizen purred, as Gin slithered like a silver shadow from the darkness behind the throne. "You are offering yourself in his place?"

"Yeah."

In the end, it wasn't as though he had a choice. After all, true leaders rarely do.

-END-

Polite concrit welcome - my first foray into this particular style of writing, and I feel a little out of my depth with this. Flames will have grammar and spelling corrected and be reposted under 'Humor.'


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